Green Light

1. Montana

1

Montana

A t a woman’s core, she knows—there’s a distinct difference between being looked at and being seen.

Any smart girl hopes to never truly be seen. How can they possibly hurt you if they are without the chance to burrow into the vast cavern within you? Those secrets you hold deep? They're yours to treasure, never to unveil. A woman’s heart isn’t meant to be toyed with. Once touched, it has the power to level cities, make happy homes turn to dust, and obliterate a man’s ego.

But I’ve gained a taste for it, you see. The control that comes from capitalizing on being looked at. Deliciously deviant, I’ve become a slave to my own power. I hunger for the way men become weak around me, beneath me, inside of me. They think they’re using me, but I know. I know what it takes to make them fold. What makes them fall on their sword for a taste of the promised land. And I assure you, it isn’t much.

Men are driven by their sexual needs. By their need to control and conquer. Giving them the confidence to assume they hold the power is my wheelhouse, my area of expertise. Long gone are the days that men take from me.

But this venture ahead of me is something I’ve never dared to do. That is, until my needs outweighed my wants, and injustices were swept beneath the rug of humanity. Life hasn’t set me up to succeed, yet all I do is find ways in which to do so, regardless of morality.

The backs of my thighs stick to the leather beneath me. I readjust my sundress, the couch creaking beneath me as I shift, and I quickly contemplate my life choices. It’s just sex. A meaningless transaction. One in which I can ultimately derive my own pleasure if need be. But this is a job. One I just so happen to be really fucking good at.

My ability to become heartless and closed off to human emotion is a skill I’ve excelled at all my life. Being able to remove the self where many can’t find the strength to do so.

The room is silent yet comfortingly warm. I assumed it would be frigid and unwelcoming. Fluorescents nearly blind me with their stark white light, but I understand the need for clear, quality shots. My eyes fall upon the sleek wooden desk before me, bare and waiting. Trailing my gaze further, I take in the tripod in the corner, the camera already set on me.

Could he already be recording?

The doorknob twists and I sit up straight, quietly clearing my throat.

It’s just a penis. Just a dick. Doesn’t matter the age or body attached to it. The better I am, the faster this goes, the quicker I get paid, and the sooner I get my answers.

The door opens abruptly, and a man brushes past me. As my eyes fall upon those broad shoulders, the confident gait with which he strides, and the scent of designer cologne that almost burns my nostrils with its spicy musk, I can’t help but stare vacantly. He’s not Vince. It’s not possible.

This man is surprisingly young, looking only a few years older than me. Dressed in fitted navy-blue dress pants with a brown belt that is the exact shade of caramel brown as his fancy loafers, it’s clear he has money. His crisp, periwinkle-blue button-up is pressed to perfection, and his dark hair is shaved into an extremely low, faded undercut. The entire aura surrounding him reeks of confidence, and the way he holds his head high and with authority makes me assume he is someone of importance.

Standing near the desk, he finally leans his hip against it, turning to face me. Piercings and ink litter his face and neck, some of the ink fresher than the rest, which seems to contradict his choice of attire entirely.

He offers his hand to me.

“Melanie.”

My brows lower as I sit in silence, wondering if I heard him correctly. I stare blankly at his bony hand, the enlarged knuckles donning fresh cuts along with scars of old ones, noting more sporadic tattoos. He can’t be Vince.

His deep timber startles me as it rattles through my chest again. “Melanie, right?”

I shake my head. “Montana.”

He pulls his hand back, sucking a breath through his teeth as he quickly rubs his palm over his mouth. He sits on the edge of the desk behind him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I mutter quickly, feeling his discomfort or nervousness, whichever it may be. His pinpoint pupils zero in on my face, and I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t.

He just stares; a morbid fascination lies behind his gaze.

“You’re auditioning with me today?” I ask. “I’m sorry, I-I’m just a bit confused. I had assumed this was a solo audition. I didn’t think I’d be partnered up yet…with anyone other than...”

His hands grip the lip of the desk tightly, still staring intently as I trail off. Lips that are full, pink, and pouty sit on a face carved by bone and definition. Hollow cheeks sink into his structured face, while his pronounced Adam’s apple protrudes through the image of some sort of daunting moth with skulls covering it.

Hairs on the back of my neck tickle and dance at the stoic look he’s giving me. His eyes are dark and menacing, yet I feel the heat of caged rage existing beneath the still and motionless facade.

He is, however, exactly what I would guess a guy in this business would look like—rough around the edges, a few screws loose, assumptions of a massive cock beneath those fitted pants. All the crazy ones have the best dicks. It’s science.

I guessed I’d have my chin nuzzled in some geriatrics’s sack by now. I’m not mad at the discovery; I’m simply surprised. Better yet, amused.

“So…your name is?” I say, breaking the sudden awkward silence.

“Croix,” he answers.

“And…is this your—”

“I don’t do sentiments.” His tone is cold and altogether void of emotion.

My head tips to the side as I study him. I get it, this industry and the need to separate our feelings, but there is still a thing called fucking kindness. Human decency left this one a long time ago.

“I wasn’t asking for a life story,” I say, unable to bite back my bitterness. “Clearly, I don’t need it, nor do I fucking care.”

He laughs lightly, dragging his tongue across his lips. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “Let’s reset. I apologize for how that came across. It’s been a long day.”

A long day. Great.

Before I can overthink what that loaded statement means, he continues, “When I start recording, state your name and age, and we’ll begin.”

My hands lay loosely on my lap, my mouth parts, but I can’t speak. He’s not the talent. He’s the agent.

“Where’s Vince?”

He cocks a brow. The one with sharp slices through the center, like a cat got its claws into him.

“Vince is admin. Brings them to the agent. I’m the agent you're working with today.”

He presses up and off the desk, growing to his full height again, and walks a few strides toward the tripod. Tight bundles of nerves threaten to dismantle my cool facade, my mind already imagining how this is going to play out.

He’s toned by the look of it, lengthy, and the way his ass and thighs fill those dress pants has my toes curling into my sandals. It’s unfortunate that he’s somewhat attractive to me, but there are worse things than being attracted to the guy you’re about to fuck on film.

“I saw on your form that you are open to pretty much anything,” he says while futzing with the camera.

I clear my throat again, feeling oddly raw and vulnerable as I pull the bottom of my skirt over my thighs. “Uh, yeah, I’m down for whatever…”

“So you’ve done this before?” His accusatory tone practically lashes me, almost sounding as if he’s frustrated if that’s precisely the case.

He’s fucking delusional. Nice, then harsh, sweet, then psycho. Screws loose.

“No,” I state, raising my chin. “First timer here.”

He pauses whatever he is doing with the camera to turn his gaze upon me. It’s then I notice just how quiet it is in this room—too quiet, as the blaze of those eyes burn me from the inside out. The darkness he exudes makes me pause. He blinks slowly, then shifts his attention back to the camera again.

“Then don’t say you’re down for whatever when you aren’t even aware of what that entails. Safe word?”

I let out a breath, feeling somewhat irritated by the overall arrogance of this man, then shrug. “Red?”

He scoffs. “No lack of originality there.”

Before I can clap back with something witty and demeaning, he turns to face me again.

“Green light.”

My brows pinch together. “What?”

“You have to say it. In order for me to begin, you need to give me the green light. Consent is of utmost importance in this business.”

I grip the edge of my dress with my sweaty palms. Taking a quick, calming breath, I release it and say, “Green light.”

His scarred brow twitches as he peers from my eyes to my breasts, skimming my exposed knees down to my sandal wedges. The way he’s assessing me, a demented look in his eyes and a simple smirk slowly pulling at his lips, makes my face flush with heat and my thighs press together. It's clear he views me as less than a person. A mere object to satisfy not only his needs but the consumers’ as well.

He presses a button, and the camera flashes a small red light.

Flipping my long black hair over my shoulder, I shift personas, becoming everything I need to make this mission happen. No self. No connection. Completely shut down.

“My name is Montana Rowe, and I’m eighteen years old.”

He stills at the statement, his hand rolling into a fist near his side, and I wonder about the lies other girls have told this very camera.

“Very good,” he says softly, the sultry tone of his voice already making my skin sizzle.

Taking a few steps, he stands before me, hands in his slacks, his bulge already lengthy and pressing against the fabric of his pants.

Is he already semi-hard?

I blink up at him from beneath long lashes, using the power of my innocence against him. It seems to work. His rough expression softens slightly as he peers down into their hypnosis.

I’ve been blessed with eyes that can strike a man down. My mother once told me eyes were a woman’s most dangerous weapon. Had she used hers correctly, maybe I wouldn't be in the mess I am today. However, I’ve utilized this skill in the past, and at the moment, I understand the true magnitude of it. My golden browns, like whisky in the sun, pull men into my hold as I wrap around them, counting down their demise and raping them of their livelihood.

“Montana Rowe,” he whispers my name with such familiarity that a chill skirts across my flesh. His hand rises and his rough palm lands on my cheek, his thumb trailing my skin and his fingers cupping gently beneath my jaw. “You’re a beautiful woman. But you already know that, don’t you?”

My lips part as a soft sigh leaves me. I can’t help but breathe in his manly musk. Clean with a dark undertone, hinting at his anything-but-clean lifestyle. There’s a lingering scent of cigarettes, but it's masked by his own unique spice. It’s the kind most men pay money for, but not him. It’s natural. It’s entirely his to own.

“I bet you make the sweetest sounds when you get fucked.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “I just know you do.”

His thumb glides along my bottom lip, stalling when it reaches the center. I wait for something to happen, but his finger stills in place, his eyes lingering there. His hand vibrates. He’s shaking.

“I’m getting ahead of myself,” he states, sucking in a deep breath before his hand drops to his side, curling into a fist again.

To my surprise, he backs away from me entirely, taking a seat in the chair behind the desk. I watch anxiously as he opens a drawer, digging through it until he finally pulls out a handheld video camera.

I peer at the tripod and back.

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to understand that a pretty face isn’t enough to make it in this business, Montana.”

He sets the handheld camera up on the edge of the desk, pointing it directly at me while adjusting the screen toward himself.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I understand that you have to see me naked.”

“Yes.” He sits back on the chair, placing his elbows casually on the armrests and sighing. “As you know, as an adult actress, you can make up to an average of fifteen hundred to two thousand a day. Depending on your likeability, your efforts, and your willingness to try new things.”

I nod, wondering about the accuracy of those numbers.

“So we can start by taking a look at you first.”

I swallow, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Would you like me to undress now?”

“Yes, that would be helpful. If you could stand and head over to the corner of the room.”

I stand, pointing toward the door, and he nods, adjusting the camera.

Walking to the corner, I grip the bottom of my dress, taking one last quick breath. Two grand a day. More than enough to get to where I need to be now that Mom's gone.

I lift the dress up and over my head, leaving me standing in nothing but my white lace bra and thong set, the wedge sandals still on, my innocence working for me.

The stillness in the room has my fingers twisting into themselves. There’s absolutely no reaction from him. He just sits back in his chair, arms folded with that look of arrogance, eyeing my body and ensuring the camera catches it all.

“Remove the bra,” he says flatly.

I pull the straps down my cold shoulders, reaching back to undo the clasp. It opens and slides down my arms, leaving my breasts to hang full and heavy, my nipples already tightening.

“God, you have gorgeous tits, Mel—Montana. Truly gorgeous. What are you, a C cup?”

My eyes narrow at the slip of my name. Can’t even remember which chick he’s auditioning? I suppose it’s just another set of tits. Just another ass, right? Which makes the fact that he’s somewhat hard even more peculiar.

Viagra. Changing lives since 1998.

“34 C.”

“Beautiful,” he hums. “Knew it. Alright baby, why don’t you slip out of the underwear for me. Show me what’s under those panties.”

His voice is definitely more comforting now. Authoritative, yet soft. I grip the lace material near my hips and slide them down my thighs until they’re at my ankles. I kick them off and stand awkwardly before him, my hands subtly crossed over my lower abdomen.

“Is that a…?”

“Yes. It’s pierced. I hope that’s not a problem.”

His gaze drifts to my navel, my chest, and back to my mouth. “No.” He pauses as if contemplating. “No, that’s not a problem at all. It’s…new?”

I didn’t think it would be a problem, but now I’m worried it’s going to be based on how he’s regarding me. Hadn’t even considered it after being offered a free piercing of my choosing in exchange for a few pictures of my feet in dirty and worn sandals. Seemed like a fair trade.

“I mean, within the last year, yes, but it’s fully healed. I assure you.”

He focuses his lens as he slides the handheld camera across the wooden desk before him, zooming in as he shakes his head.

“That’s fucking gorgeous, Montana. That looks real good sitting there between those pretty pink lips.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, my clammy palms rolling against each other.

“Do you have any tattoos?”

I lick my lips, wetting them before saying, “No. Nothing to identify me.”

This man has a strange affinity for staring. He does it after every time I answer him, holding my gaze. I can feel his mind buzzing with thoughts, ideas flanking him left and right. But that’s good, right? All I’ve ever wanted was to provide inspiration in order to conquer.

“Alright, now turn and face the door so I can get a better look at your body.”

I do as he says while he silently films.

“Now bend over for me. Pull those cheeks apart and let me see all of you from behind.”

Complying again, I close my eyes and release a shaky breath as I bend down, spreading myself before him. Allowing him the pleasure of seeing every last inch of me.

“Yes. That’s good. Open up for me,” he whispers, his throat sounding thick with lust as I readjust on my heels. He hums again. “Fuck, that’s really good.”

His praise helps me to feel more comfortable, considering this situation is entirely unnatural. Very unlike the work I’ve done online. I can hide behind a mask there. Become whoever and whatever I want to be. But here, in this room, before this warm-bodied talent agent, it’s nothing but complete exposure. One-on-one flat judgment.

“Alright, why don’t you come back over to the couch now, and we’ll have a quick chat.”

I peer down at my dress on the floor, and his eyes follow. “We’re gonna keep the clothes off for now. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

The way he asks so kindly helps me realize this is all still in my control.

As if sensing my nerves, he says, “This only goes as far as you want it to. The ball is entirely in your court here, okay? At any given moment, you are free to put on the brakes and leave.”

My decision. Ball is in my court. I nod at his reassurance and head back to the black leather couch. When I sit down, the cool fabric tickles my bottom, the sensation teasing my sensitive flesh.

“Do you masturbate, Montana?”

I swallow down the knot in my throat. “Yes.”

“How often?”

I suck in a breath. “Um, I try to daily, if possible.”

“And do you watch porn while you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a certain kink that you have, something you find yourself gravitating toward when selecting your porn?”

“I enjoy many different things. Uh…threesomes, bisexual play, anal, taboo…”

“Taboo?” He clears his throat. “What do you consider taboo?”

“I don’t know…cheating housewives, cuckolding, age gaps, stepdaughter, any step-relations really…stuff like that.”

He smiles adoringly, as if the idea of me liking those things is cute to him. I just realized I’ve yet to see him smile. It's a really nice smile, but there’s something off about it. It doesn’t quite reach his menacing eyes.

“That's fantastic, Montana.” His smile drops, and he’s back to business. “Show me how you masturbate.”

My mouth goes dry. “Uh, right here?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” He suddenly pushes his chair away from the desk, standing as he grabs the handheld camera from the desk. He digs into the drawer again, this time retrieving a light pink vibrator. “Do you typically come by clitoral stimulation or penetration?”

Everything he says and how he says it is with such composure and maturity. The boys I’m used to aren’t even aware of the clit, instructing me to touch that ‘dangly thing,’ yet this guy talks like a kitty-connoisseur. He’s very matter-of-fact but oddly kind about it—comforting, somehow knowing I need to feel that.

I shrug my shoulders lightly. “Both, I guess.”

Rounding the corner of the desk, he makes his way over and sits next to me on the leather couch, leaving me in view of the tripod.

“If you could spread your legs. Show the camera what you do.”

I do as he asks, leaning back against the couch, my heels on the edge of the leather as my naked body lies open for viewing. My hand slowly trails down my abdomen, running between my breasts, fingers feathering over my navel until I finally reach my center. My nipples tingle, needing attention, as his eyes follow my fingers, not focusing on the image on the camera like he was previously.

I rub my clit in soft circles, toying with the diamond piercing as I do. Licking my lips, I stare into the camera and glide my finger down over my entire sex, my body switching into work mode, finding that rhythm as my slick arousal leaks out of me.

“Like this?” I whisper.

“Mmm, that looks great,” he murmurs, the muscles in his jaw bouncing. “Continue.”

I do as he says, continuing the sweet torture on myself before pushing my middle finger into my wet heat. I drop my head back against the couch, a sigh falling across my lips, feeling less awkward by the second as my body works itself into a frenzy.

Falling into my hazy bliss, he watches closely before rubbing the light pink vibrator along my thigh and handing it to me.

I rub it all over my slippery clit, twitching at the sensations before pressing it against my aching hole and slowly pushing it inside. He hums in satisfaction as I release a soft breath, reaching up to touch my breast with my other hand while still working the vibrator in and out of myself in a slow, torturous tease. I palm my breast, pinching my nipple roughly, before massaging the tender flesh again.

“You’re doing amazing. Such a natural,” he praises, gripping the black leather couch tightly. He’s almost a little breathless.

My focus becomes his mouth as I imagine it’s his tongue penetrating me. His jaw is lax now, and the sliver of tongue I can see grazes the corner of his lip, almost as if to distract himself. But after watching for a few more seconds, something about his expression changes, and his face hardens again.

“But as you know, it’s more than just how you play with yourself. You have to play well with others.” He reaches up to my face, running his calloused palm along my cheek before gripping my chin, my hand still working the vibrator. “You play well with others, right, pretty girl?”

I nod in his grip. He grins back at me with pride, his eyes so dark and dangerous beneath those defined brows. Up close, I study the two gashes through the right side, his face adorned with ink. Fuck, he’s looking more attractive every second I’m in here toying with myself. His gaze drifts down to where the vibrator is disappearing inside of me, and he shudders.

“Time for you to prove it,” he whispers, blinking as our eyes connect again. “You ready?”

I swallow. “Yes, I’m ready.”

He stands next to the edge of the couch, holding the camera up near his chest.

“Get down on your knees. Take out my cock,” he demands. “I’m gonna need to see how you suck.”

I leave the vibrator on the seat, then slowly drop to my knees, crawling toward him. Sitting back on my heels beneath him, I work his belt and undo the slacks, peeling them down his sculpted thighs. Words leave me as I stare at the massive strain in his boxers, a wet spot present.

He’s so thick and achingly ready.

“Do it now,” he urges, his eyelids heavy with harnessed lust.

I comply, pulling his boxer briefs down his chiseled pelvis and breathing in his fresh, fleshy scent. He must’ve just showered because his skin smells clean and minty, yet musky. His natural scent penetrates my senses as my fingers trail the light dusting of short, dark hair leading to his groin, passing by more random ink as they do. He shifts on his feet as I smooth over his length, my eyes rounding at the mere width.

“Go on,” he urges again. “Wrap that pretty little mouth around me if you can.”

His cock is a work of art. It’s heavy and has this slight curve to it that demands attention. It’s the most perfect fleshy tone with large, tight balls right beneath. It’s no wonder he’s in the business.

My hands surround his thick base, and a low rumble leaves his throat as I caress my palms to the tip. I lick my lips, looking up at him and the camera one last time before he pushes himself into my awaiting mouth.

His taste is clean and earthy. My fingers trail the lightly shaved hair at his apex, black nails lightly scratching along his skin.

I suck, kiss, then lick up his velvety length, using my mouth to make love to him as my eyes flirt with the camera he’s holding. Gripping his shaft and working my hand to tighten around his reddened tip, I bend down further and wrap my lips around his balls, sucking them into my mouth, savoring his taste, before running my tongue along the groove between them.

His hold on the camera tightens. “Ah fuck, you’re doing really well, Montana. You worship cock like a goddess.”

His praise excites me, and the need to be the best overtakes me. My cheeks hollow as I take him in my mouth again, loving his taste and the feel of his warm thickness sliding across my tongue as I coat his lengthening dick with my saliva, making it extra slippery.

He inhales sharply, gripping the hair at the crown of my head so tightly I almost scream. Thrusting himself deep into the back of my throat, he holds himself there as my eyes water. I hum around his cock, trying not to panic, and breathe through my nose, placing my hands on his upper thighs.

Harsh pants leave his lips, and he loosens his grip, closing his eyes and raising his hand in the air.

“Shit,” he says, breathing roughly. “I’m sorry.”

It's as if he lost all control for a second.

I love that it happened. It was just what I needed to see.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, flashing my large doe eyes up at him, feeling the drool spill over my lips and down my chin.

“I just wasn’t expecting you to be so good at this,” he adds.

I smirk at the comment as my lips surround his tip again, sliding him across my tongue before I take him to the back of my throat again, working to impress. Even he can be controlled.

My gag reflex has me choking around his thick base, holding him there as long as I can to prove myself. I cough, my eyes dripping excess tears before I pop off, spit on his tip, and stroke the length while catching my breath.

“You make the best little fuck toy, Montana. A true vision in this industry.” His hand palms the back of my head gently, almost petting me. I grit my teeth and bear it. “You ready to show me what else you’re capable of?”

I feel a wave of nervousness wash over me again. I know what he’s asking.

“That’s something you want to do, yeah?” he asks again. “Be a part of this industry?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Good,” he answers quickly. “Why don't you lay back on the couch and show me how much you can handle.”

How much I can handle. The way he says that stirs my insides into a twist of lustful need. As if knowing sex with him is going to be a challenge for me—my limits will be tested.

I lie back on the creaky leather, pushing the vibrator onto the floor. He crawls on top of me, and I part my thighs to make room for him.

“Hold this,” he demands, handing me the camera. “Keep it on your face as I enter you.”

A shiver runs down my spine at his demand. My belly coils with unease and excitement. I feel as if I’m bound so tight that a simple breeze across my nipple might send me over the edge.

I keep my eyes on him and his on mine as he slowly unbuttons his dress shirt. My lip quivers as he peels the shirt off his lean, toned body. The cuts of his torso run deep, and the curves of his sculpted biceps have me ready to see what that strength is capable of. Calloused hands and scarred knuckles rake down his lower abdomen before he grips the base of that thickness again.

“Camera on your face,” he reminds me, cupping himself in his palm before rolling over his length.

I nod, opening myself up, somewhat fascinated by how he’s touching himself.

“You didn’t lie on any of your forms, did you?” He reaches back to the small table next to the couch, where I assume he’s grabbing a condom.

He grabs a small bottle of lube instead and begins applying it directly to his cock, sliding his hand up and down the shaft, then rolling his fingers around the reddened tip.

“You’re not using protection?”

“No. Never.” He stares, waiting for an answer.

I shake my head. “I didn’t lie. I’ve been tested since I last had sex. But don’t you need actual proof?”

Lines form between his brows, and he looks unsure of my answer but continues, “Alright. It’s fine. Let’s continue.”

I position the camera in my hand, my forearm pressing against the back of the couch, still on my face.

My clit is already aching and swollen, begging for some friction, and my insides clench with the anticipation of what’s coming.

His warm, firm tip rolls over my slit, and my body shudders with approval.

“You ready?” he whispers, leaning over me to place one hand on the couch beside my head.

I nod vigorously, my chest heaving as I work to calm my breathing. His eyes fall to my bare breasts, and he reaches up, cupping one.

“You sure?”

He admires it, palming the flesh before his thumb flicks over my nipple once, then again. I nod again and relax back into the plush cushion beneath me as his warm mouth closes over one of them. I pulse with need with each soft lash and flick of his tongue, those plump lips encasing my sensitive, hardened bud.

He leans further over me, bringing his mouth to the shell of my ear. The warmth of his breath tickles my highly alert flesh.

“Good. Because I’m about to fuck you like you’re mine,” he whispers, his demonic tone causing my hair to stand on end. “But you’re not. You’ll never be.”

His eyes find mine, our faces mere inches from one another’s. The look is menacing. Maddening. Malicious. My brows furrow, my heart pounding so violently in my chest, I’m sure he can hear it.

Rising above me again, his restraint seems to buckle. Without another word, he lines himself up with my entrance and presses himself inside. Eyes trained on my body, his mouth drops open as he slowly inches his way further inside me. I tilt my hips, a sharp breath escaping my chest as I open my thighs to help accommodate his size and ease the slight sting.

His eyes radiate something that practically sears my flesh from my body. It’s a look of disbelief—one of twisted passion, a look of absolute obsession. My pulse instantly spikes in fear of it.

I feel the loss of him as he slowly drags his cock out of me before urging forward again, sinking deeper and deeper. Inch by painful inch, he stretches me until he’s sitting so deep I think I’m going to combust.

Head dropping between his shoulders, he blows out a breath, his biceps flexing as his hands roughly grip the edge of the couch. He closes his eyes tightly before opening them again, peering down at me.

“Describe it,” he practically hisses through his teeth. “Describe how it feels.”

“Hurts,” I whisper, licking my lips and catching a breath. “It aches. Throbs. So good.”

He shifts slightly, barely moving, and I feel myself on the verge of release. I’m already so worked up from the vibrator, but the fullness he’s providing has me warding off an orgasm that's already cresting. I can come so quickly when I'm aroused that it’s practically pathetic.

“Oh fuck,” I whisper, internally tightening around his length as my free hand grips his wrist near my head. I feel myself spasming around him, and he senses it.

“Are you—” he trails, peering down where we connect. “You want to come for me?”

A ragged moan leaves my throat in response.

Quickly thrusting again, our skin slaps together so forcefully that I slide up the couch. He gauges my reaction before pulling almost all the way out of me, leaving only the tip. His hand disappears between us, appearing to touch himself, before bringing that hand up to my mouth.

His fingers are coated in my arousal. I shudder.

Saying nothing, he pushes them against my mouth, watching with fascination. My tongue dips from between my lips, lapping those fingers as his abs tighten above me. I taste myself as he slowly sinks his cock deep within my walls again, his fingers gliding over my tongue.

“There was always something about your mouth…” he whispers to himself, fucking me with slow, rhythmic thrusts, his vision centering on my lips.

I can’t focus on anything but the treacherous pace he’s setting. It’s slow. Deliriously slow. I need it hard and fast, aching to break the crest of my orgasm, but he’s denying me that. The expression masking his face gives him away. He’s toying with me, working me into a mad frenzy. As soon as I’m on the brink, he retreats and taunts me with his eyes. Testing me.

But I’m already so close, and if there’s one thing I can’t control, it’s my release.

It builds again, and my body burns with need. My insides tremble, my eyes blurring as he steadies his rhythm, setting an intoxicatingly addicting pace that finally lures out my first orgasm.

Harsh breaths fall from my chest as I hum through the powerful break, my moans captured by those fingers still on my tongue. My teeth unintentionally bite down as the intensity of the orgasm tears through me. His focus on my face is paralyzing as he holds himself deep, stilling while he watches with wonder. I clench around him, my body spasming in quick pulsating waves around his cock, squeezing and releasing.

Finally, after I’ve finished quivering through the sensations, his fingers leave my mouth, trailing down my chin and my neck, leaving a slippery line of saliva between my breasts.

“That was quick,” he comments, almost bewildered.

I smile lightly, feeling almost embarrassed by how quick it was when in reality, it’s got to be great for this industry.

“You don’t mind coming on camera, I see,” he continues, dick still hard as ever, seated deep within me.

He isn’t moving anymore, just enjoying being where he is, coated in the warm aftermath of my orgasm. I feel the slick wetness against my inner thigh.

“I don’t,” I reply, not mentioning it’s not my first time on camera. That filming myself only amplifies my sexual needs. Nerves are irrelevant to me in these situations. It’s definitely my first time showing my face, though.

“Good.” He withdraws his cock, and it springs up, firm as ever. Gripping my legs beneath my knees, he flips me so quickly I drop the camera. I grunt as he roughly tosses me, my stomach landing flat on the couch, knees bent beneath me, and my ass now tilted up. I look over my shoulder at him, surprised by his forcefulness.

“Now it’s time to see if you can get your partner off, too, you greedy cunt.”

He leans over my back, groin against my ass, his lips dusting my ear, but my dizziness takes away the ability to reply to his character change.

“And I like my pretty girls wearing gems,” he whispers.